


FINE

by Wolfiekins



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Male Slash, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Underage Sex, Voyeurism, Weasleycest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 14:38:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2696615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfiekins/pseuds/Wolfiekins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Quidditch practise, Fred and George try out one of their latest creations on Harry and Ron.  Interlude set near the end of <i>Goblet of Fire</i></p><p>WARNINGS:  Slash, Underage, Adult Language & Situations, Angst, UST, First Time, Voyeurism, Humour, Pot Smoking, Weasleycest</p>
            </blockquote>





	FINE

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all associated characters and settings remain the intellectual property of JK Rowling and her associates. No offence intended nor monies made through this presentation.

**__**

 

 

 

 

“You think too much,” Harry says, dragging on his jeans. “Relax and trust yourself, just like you do back at the Burrow. You're a really good flier, Ron.” He plunks down on the bench beside Ron, who's staring at the flagstone flooring and in the midst of another of his trademark sulks. Harry bumps shoulders with his best mate. “Buck up. It's only practise, and it wasn't _that_ bad.”

Ron shrugs into his favourite Chudley t-shirt, which is not only very faded, but at least one size too small.

Harry doesn't mind this at all, trying not to stare at how the snug shirt shows off Ron's lean, muscled chest.

“It most certainly was,” Ron grumps, yanking on the hem of his shirt to straighten it. “Not only did I miss blocking the Quaffle, I caught the hoop with the nose of my broomstick! Good thing old Hooch was paying attention, else I'd be in hospital wing right now.”

Harry watches as Ron savagely thrusts on his trainers. He feels for his friend, truly, but at the moment, he's having difficulty suppressing sniggers as Ron clearly overreacts to the minor error on his part.

Typical Ron. And typically adorable.

“Well,” Harry begins, but he's cut off as Fred leaps around the row of lockers, laying a big hand on Harry's shoulders.

“Hey, Harry, how about a bit of fun?” Fred says conspiratorially, his eyes darting about the emptying locker room.

George appears a second later, leaning his chin on Fred's shoulder.

“Yeah, Harry. We've just the thing to blot out any memory of that bitch Dumbridge. At least for a little while.”

“C'mon, mate,” Fred says, squeezing Harry's shoulder. “Have we _ever_ steered you wrong?”

Ron makes a rude noise as he finishes lacing up his trainers. “What now? Another foray into the fifth floor Prefect's bath to annoy Myrtle? Count me out.” His eyes lock on Harry, and he barely jerks his head toward the head of the locker room and the castle exit.

“Hear something, George?” Fred says.

“Other than a pathetic _buzz buzz buzz_ , no, nothing,” George replies, looking all around and pretending to swat at non-existent insects.

“Arseholes,” Ron mutters.

Harry looks back to Fred, who conjures a fat, hand-rolled joint and waves it tauntingly under Harry's nose.

“Better than the last time,” Fred says, grinning wickedly, his other hand absently scratching at his bare chest. His rather broad, nicely _muscled_ bare chest.

“I can honestly vouch for that,” George adds, leaning his head against Fred's.

Harry licks his lips as George flexes his chest muscles.

“Harry,” Ron grouses, stomping a foot. “We've got Double Potions tomorrow, and a _quiz_!”

“ _Double Potions and a quiz_!” Fred and George croon in unison.

“Fuck off,” Ron bleats sullenly.

“Harry?” Fred asks, waggling his eyebrows.

“Oh, blunderboy can come along too,” George adds, flipping a hand to Ron. “If you like.”

“Hey!” Ron squeals.

“Alright, count me in,” Harry says, standing up as the Twins high-five each other.

“This way,” Fred says, disappearing around the lockers.

“It's gonna be brilliant,” George assures, winking at Harry and sticking out his tongue at Ron. “Hurry up! Meet you at the pitch exit in two ticks!”

Harry watches as George rounds the lockers, his purple boxers riding _very_ low on his hips.

“Harry? Are you mental?” Ron grabs Harry's shoulder and whirls him around.

“Come on, Ron. It'll be fun. No use studying for Potions anyway.” Harry snags his rucksack and slams his locker. “Just lighten up. Your brothers aren't _that_ bad.”

Ron gapes at him, planting both fists on his hips. “Did you get hit on the head too many times today? They're raging dickheads! Have you forgotten how they banished all my clothes in the common room last week?”

“Um, well, now that you mention it,” Harry replies vaguely.

Of course he remembers the incident.

Very well, indeed.

That morning in the common room had been notable for the fact that not only did Harry have a wonderful opportunity to gawk at how perfectly tall, long and lean Ron's become, but for a brief instant, he'd glimpsed Ron's nicely sized and partially fluffed cock.

Before Ron had grabbed Neville's Mimbulus Mimbletonia to conceal his aroused state, that is.

The Mimbletonia had puffed up and oozed for hours afterward.

“Well, I'm not going,” Ron grumps, folding his arms across his chest and averting his gaze to study the light fixture over their heads.

“Oh, get down off the cross, Ron,” Harry cajoles, reaching over to tweak one of Ron's nipples through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. “You could do with a bit of mellowing out.”

“Listen to you, now. One soggy spliff and you're an expert.” Ron blows out a breath, his arms flopping to his sides. “Fine, I'll go, but don't encourage them!”

“Merlin, Ron,” Harry sighs, shouldering his pack. “Just ignore their cheek. And serve some up right back. That's the best way to get them to lay off.”

“Harry! Let's go!” Fred and George chorus from the other end of the locker room.

“You heard 'em,” Harry says, squeezing Ron's shoulder. “Just stick close to me, yeah?”

Ron shrugs, and they hurry towards the pitch exit. Rounding the last line of lockers, Harry ploughs directly into Oliver Wood.

“Now where are ya goin' to in such a rush?” Oliver asks in his silky brogue. “Castle's back that way.”

“Erm,” Ron says.

“Well,” Harry says.

“They're with us,” Fred proclaims, suddenly appearing in the open doorway to the pitch. George's head pokes around the doorframe a second later.

“Yeah, Ollie. No worries.”

Fred waves Harry on.

George nods vigorously.

“We've got to go,” Harry says, smiling at Oliver. “They're helping us with Potions.”

“Yeah,” Ron adds importantly, giving their Captain a swift salute as brushes past Harry to join the Twins.

“Potter?” Wood asks, his expression clearly one of disappointment. “You too?”

“Erm, sorry, Oliver. See you at practise tomorrow,” Harry says brightly, backing away to bump into Ron.

Fred blows Oliver a kiss and disappears across the pitch, George right behind.

Harry jogs to catch up, with Ron bringing up the rear.

“Blast it, you ginger twats!” Oliver calls out from behind them.

Harry and Ron catch up to the Twins a moment later, and Fred and George lead them down and around the western end of the pitch. The ground slopes sharply downward, growing rockier the further they went. After several minutes, they reach a relatively flat, small clearing nestled against the thick trunks of the Forbidden Forest.

“This way.” Fred waves an arm, disappearing around an outcropping of rock. George mimics his brother's gesture and follows him.

“I dunno, Harry,” Ron says with obvious trepidation. “We're awfully close to the forest.” He leans forward, squinting into the deep shadows just beyond the nearby trunks.

“Well, if any giant spiders show up, you've three other wands to help ward them off.”

Ron pulls a face. “Spiders? Why'd you have to bring _them_ up? I wasn't even thinking about—”

“C'mon, girls!” one of the Twins yells from behind the outcropping.

Harry gives Ron's shoulder a squeeze. “Stick close to me, mate.”

“No problem there,” Ron replies.

Harry leads the way along a rough little trail that loops down and around the jumble of rocks.

They squeeze between a narrow gap between two large boulders to emerge in a secluded little hollow, a nearly vertical rock face on one end with the densely packed trees of the forest forming an irregular oval wall the rest of the way around. An array of flat stones and logs are arranged haphazardly about a sizeable fire pit in the centre of the hollow; the spot was obviously a popular hang-out.

“Wow,” Harry says as Ron bumbles right into him.

George ignites some kindling with his wand and a small fire blazes up in the circle of sooty stones. “Really more for atmosphere,” he says around a grin, “as it's a brilliant evening.” He sits down and slides close to Fred, who's already lit the fat spliff with his wandtip.

Fred pulls on the joint deeply, passing it to George, who hefts it in Harry's direction. “Let's get stoned, boys!” he says cheerfully, taking his own massive toke.

Fred blows out a series of rectangular smoke rings and leans back against their log, one arm behind his head.

“Cheers that, Freddo,” George replies, winking.

Harry shrugs out of his rucksack, crossing over to George and sitting down next to him. Ron takes a seat next to Harry, his eyes wide.

George hands over the joint, and Harry eyes it as if it might bite.

“Come on, hurry up,” Ron whinges impatiently.

“Shut it!” the Twins chorus.

“Here goes,” Harry says, inhaling deeply.

The hot, pungent smoke instantly burns the back of his throat and he coughs, nearly dropping the joint.

Ron snatches it greedily, his fingers shaking so much that he _does_ drop the spliff. “Sorry.”

“That's our ickle Ronniekins,” Fred says lazily.

George hands Harry his wand. “Flame it up again, eh?”

After much coughing, wheezing and drooling, the spliff makes three complete circuits before Fred carefully puts out the roach and places it in his pants pocket. He instantly pulls out another joint, larger than the previous one, grinning wickedly.

At first, nothing happens, and Harry thinks that something's either wrong with him or the pot. But it isn't ordinary Muggle _weed_ as Fred calls it. Some sort of special Weasley blend, whatever that is.

It's after his first few tokes on the second joint when Harry notices the oddness.

His lips feel funny, strange, even.

As if they're suddenly too large for his mouth. Not numb, exactly, but definitely weird. He stares around the clearing, noticing a foggy, wavering haze around the fire. The flames flicker and dance in an almost liquidy manner, reflecting on the Twins' faces and illuminating them with a warm, fuzzy glow.

That was it: everything has gone fuzzy.

Or muzzy.

Or wuzzy.

All of 'em!

He laughs again, stopping abruptly as he realises that his head feels wrong, but in an entirely perfect way. He bobs his head up and down experimentally, then side to side, and it feels as if there's too much space in there suddenly, like his brain is now too small for his skull. And it's bouncing around amongst a bed of cotton or something.

Finding that too much of a downer to ponder any further, Harry looks over to Ron, who's studying one of his thumbnails intently.

Harry barely stifles a giggle.

Then he lets it out.

And then another, and another.

Ron pays him no mind, but George barks out a laugh.

"Turning on," Fred comments, returning George's high-five.

Harry tries to high-five George, but misses, tumbling from his log to the dirt.

Ron ignores him.

Harry can't stop from giggling.

Everything's suddenly funny.

Hilarious, even.

It doesn't matter what happens or what's said, but it's instantly the most humorous event in the history of the wizarding world. He's laughing so hard and so much, his sides are starting to hurt.

Ron alternately stares at him blankly or grins widely, his deep, blue eyes half-open and most definitely tinged with red.

Harry wonders if he looks the same, and laughs again.

"I think our newbies are completely, officially stoned, Fred," George observes with a lopsided smile.

"Yep," George replies, leaning against his twin and taking a long, slow drag.

Ron's head jerks in the direction of his brothers, his expression an uneasy mix of annoyance and concentration. He opens his mouth several times to speak, but each time, he stops to glare about the small clearing nervously.

Harry's giggles are now continuous, and that's totally alright.

"I most certainly am... not," Ron finally says.

Harry covers his mouth, his chest convulsing and his cheeks flushing hot.

Fred shoots George a knowing glance, carefully taking the joint from his twin. "Told you this would happen," he murmurs. The tip of the joint flares orange. He holds the smoke in easily, eyes closed. A moment later, he opens them, and blows out some smoke. "This is fabulous, Fred. You've outdone yourself this time." He hands the joint to Ron.

"Thanks, bro," Fred replies, scooting closer to George and leaning his head against his twin's chest. "A few simple refinements. That Muggle stuff was much too harsh on its own."

George nods, cocking his head and staring at Ron. "Check it out, Fred."

Ron studies the rock next to his boot, his expression one of awe.

Harry nudges him, giggling.

"Your turn, Ron," he manages to get out between giggles.

Ron's head snaps up. "I'm hungry," he declares importantly. Harry nudges him again, nodding to George's hand.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Ron chirps, taking the joint and pulling on it deeply.

George drapes his arm about Fred's shoulder. "Yeah, this is fabulous stuff, all right, Fred. I feel just fine."

Harry had to agree.

Sure, this is only the second time he's _truly_ smoked pot (he'd only had one toke that other time), or smoked anything for that matter, but he's also feeling just fine.

More than fine.

Really, really, _really_ fine.

Fine.

What a brilliant word.

It's now his all-time favourite.

Right now, everything was _fine_.

With the second spliff nearly gone, he's having distinct difficulty controlling his definitely numb lips. They feel large enough to stretch out and pull over his head, the image of which sends him into another gale of giggles.

Clutching his stomach, he flops over, crashing into Ron who's having difficulties of his own.

"I've forgotten how to blink," he groans. "What do I do now?"

Harry continues to laugh, tears leaking down his cheeks.

Fred sniggers.

"Hit it again, Ronnie," George offers, barely stifling chuckles of his own. "Everything will be fine then. Just try not to drool so much, though."

Oooh, there's _The Word_ again!

"Yeah, it'll be fine, Ron. Way fine. Very fine. Most fine!" Harry sits up and moves closer to Ron, watching intently as his best mate studies the dwindling joint, carefully guiding it toward his slightly parted lips.

Ron rakes a long drag, and for once, doesn't cough as he hands the spliff over.

As Harry takes it, he notices George's hand caressing Fred's chest.

Fred snuggles closer to his twin, one of his hands absently stroking George's thigh.

Harry finishes off the joint, taking several deep hits in quick succession. He manages to keep most of the smoke in, pulling it deeply into his lungs. He puts out the roach as he'd seen Fred do, looking up to hand it to him.

He stares across the clearing, blinking repeatedly.

It must have taken him longer than he thought to finish the joint!

Fred's climbed onto George's lap, and the twins were now snogging like there's no tomorrow.

They clutch and grope at each other as Fred rocks and moves his hips into George. George yanks Fred's t-shirt up and over his head. Fred returns the gesture, and Harry nearly faints at the sight of all that smooth, milky, freckled skin. George's hand dives down inside the back of Fred's jeans, and Harry can barely make out George's probing hand inside the faded denim, exploring Fred's shapely and definitely attractive bum.

“Bloody hell,” Harry murmurs, as buttons pop and zips un-zip.

Harry's transfixed, unable to tear his eyes away.

Not like he wants to.

Actually, he's always found it difficult _not_ to stare at Fred and George in the locker room.

Or the showers.

Or at the Burrow, down at the pond.

They're the short and stocky variety of Weasley, like Charlie. Broad shoulders, big chests and arms, thick, muscular thighs. Perfect builds for Beaters.

And nice arses, too. Really fine arses.

Harry realises then that he really _likes_ blokes' arses.

And it was fine.

Ron had a most fine arse.

Nice and narrow yet perfectly rounded, especially when he wears the right jeans. Like the ones he has on now, as a matter of fact. He's been paying so much attention to Ron's arse today that he'd nearly tripped on his own feet more than a few times on on their way to the hollow.

He smiles, not caring how goofy it might look. No one else seems to notice.

 _Where was that annoying guilty feeling?_ The pang he always had immediately after entertaining such thoughts about Ron or his brothers?

He waits a bit longer.

Nope. Nothing.

Now, this was superb!

It's totally fine to ogle Fred and George!

It's totally fine to stare at their wonderfully muscled, naked bodies as they showered, the soap bubbles washing down and over their smooth stomachs and strong legs.

It's totally fine to imagine what it would feel like to run his hands over that silky, pale, freckled skin.

And it was fine to get hard when thinking about it, too.

His hand moves down, and he moans, his fingers trailing over his erection straining the denim of his jeans.

It's all fine!

Harry stares over at the Twins, who've rolled off their log onto a conjured blanket. Fred's atop George, and Harry notes with no small amount of satisfaction that they've banished the rest of their clothes. He leans forward, marvelling at their sweat-slicked, naked bodies, almost aglow in the flickering firelight.

George cups and squeezes Fred's fuzzy arse cheeks with abandon as Fred gently pumps his hips, both of his hands framing George's head, fingers buried in those wonderfully long, sleek ginger locks. Their ragged breaths, as well as their pants and needy moans of pleasure are easily audible over the crackles and pops of the fire.

Harry shifts about, his cock fully hard and none too happy to be restrained in his jeans.

He decided then and there to make a move of his own, and why not? It all made sense, now.

Everything was fine.

He liked blokes.

He liked them a _lot_.

He liked the shape of them, their broad shoulders, their big chests, and most of all, their bums.

Yeah, he liked blokes.

One in particular, as it happens.

The one intently studying the toes of his right foot, wriggling them in sequence, frowning, then doing it all over again.

“Hey, Ron,” he whispers, sliding next to his mate.

Ron blinks at him, his face a mask of concentration. "I'm not making them do that," he says with the utmost seriousness, indicating his wiggling toes with a nod. "That's _them_ moving, all on their own!"

Harry holds a finger to his lips. " _Shhhhhh!_ They'll hear!"

Ron snorts. "Bah. They do this all the time at home. They don't care if anyone sees them. Except Mum. And Dad. And Ginny." His toes wiggle again. "See? I didn't do that."

“Um, what was that, Ron?” Harry asks, confused.

"Yeah, it's cool, Harry," George gasps.

"Right," Fred adds, diving back into their kiss.

"They like it when someone watches," Ron says. He prods his big toe hesitantly. "As long as they don't want me to join in, it's fine."

"Fine," Harry repeats, unable to keep from grinning.

He presses his thigh into Ron's, watching as his friend pulls off his other boot and sock.

Ron commences to wiggle the toes of both feet in sequence.

Harry finds the sight oddly mesmerizing. He leans in very close, carefully placing his arm around Ron's waist.

Ron makes no comment so Harry leans his chin on Ron's shoulder.

Emboldened, Harry presses tightly into Ron, barely nuzzling the side of Ron's neck.

The odd, cottony veil lifts, and Harry can see everything with perfect clarity.

Ron's big, freckled hands, his long, thick fingers rubbing at his feet and toes, pressing, prodding and poking.

Harry inhales deeply, closing his eyes to better enjoy Ron's fresh, clean scent, all brindle-soapy from his shampoo and underlaid with the familiar hints of fresh-cut grass, broom oil and, of all things, a tang of chocolate.

He's suddenly aware of the furious rhythm of his heartbeat, how the blood's surging through him, seemingly straight to his hard dick. He tingles all over, his senses on overload and firebright.

He places his free hand on Ron's knee, sighing at the contact, the wondrous feeling of Ron's warmth beneath the thin denim sending more sparks through his fingertips. The knowledge that so much pale, smooth skin waits beneath the jeans is almost too much for Harry to bear.

He's always allowed himself a few hungry stares at Fred and George in the showers, though he blatantly avoids looking at Ron at all. It's truly amazing how he's managed it all these years.

To his eyes, Ron in the shower is only a floating head.

He's caught accidental glimpses of Ron naked, of course, but while it's quite manageable to sport a raging stiffy under your robes or when covered by quilts, it's another matter entirely when one's starkers in the locker room after Quidditch practise.

Harry's now barely aware of the moans and sighs from the other side of the clearing; he's totally focusing on Ron. He slowly trails his hand across Ron's leg, his breath quickening, his fingers tingling as he ghosts them down and inside Ron's thigh. His hand reaches the top of Ron's leg, coming to rest against the redhead's denim-clad bulge.

He nearly swoons as he realises that Ron's hard as well.

Harry snaps his head up, his surely surprised gaze met with a crooked smile.

Ron's eyes are wide and bright.

And so very blue.

The most beautiful blue Harry's ever seen.

"I think I'm stoned," Ron murmurs.

"Yeah, me too," Harry replies. Thankfully, control of his lips seems to have been returned to him. Which was a very good thing, as he has immediate plans for them.

"Harry?" Ron asks softly.

"Shut it, you big git," Harry says.

He tightens his grip on Ron, pulling them closer as his other hand boldly presses against Ron's arousal, barely massaging the firm length. He shudders, feeling as if bolts of electricity are shooting through his body, every sensation of contact with Ron another level of previously unknown pleasure.

Harry never thought it would feel like this!

How on Merlin's Green Earth can he ever live without it now?

He hesitantly leans his head in, his lips suddenly warm, desperate.

Ron eyes him hungrily, his own lips slightly parted.

Harry lunges in for the kill, and so does Ron; instead of kissing, they bump noses.

“Sorry,” Ron says.

“My fault,” Harry says at the same time, tilting his head to one side.

Ron tilts his... in the same direction.

“Shit,” Harry sputters, tilting the _other_ way again.

Ron snorts, grasping Harry's face with both hands. His eyes flutter shut, and he closes the distance between them.

Harry sucks in a breath just before their lips touch.

He kisses Ron, gently at first.

One hand slides up Ron's chest before curling around the back of Ron's neck. He kisses Ron harder, a little moan escaping him. The tip of Ron's tongue pushes past his lips, and he returns the gesture, Ron opening his mouth wide. Harry again follows Ron's lead, and their tongues happily explore the other's mouth, their teeth bumping and clacking in a not-so-unpleasant fashion.

Ron accidentally nips the end of his tongue, but Harry doesn't care.

It all feels fine.

Brilliantly fine!

One of Ron's hands drops to Harry's groin, eagerly palming Harry's hardness. The sensation of that large, calloused hand stroking him ignites yet another level of his passion.

_Gods, how much better could this possibly feel?_

Harry clumsily fumbles with Ron's jeans, attempting to rip them open.

Ron assists him, and a second later, Harry's hand thrusts down inside his mate's boxers.

Harry wraps his fingers around the hot hardness of Ron's cock, eliciting gasps from both of them. His thumb trails over the head of Ron's erection, swirling around the wetness there.

Ron jerks and moans, scrabbling at the fly of Harry's jeans.

An instant later, he feels Ron's fingers wrap about his own hard length, firmly squeezing and pulling on it in a slow, even rhythm.

Harry hefts his hips up and out as they stroke each other, their ministrations hindered by their tight jeans and awkward positioning.

Ron grunts, breaking their kiss to rise to his knees and pull off his t-shirt. He tosses it away, reaching for the hem of Harry's shift and lifting it up.

Harry yanks off his glasses as Ron pulls his shirt off, sending it to join a growing pile of discarded clothing.

Ron puts out a hand for the glasses, but Harry shakes his head.

“I've waited forever for this,” Harry gasps, sliding his glasses into place, “and I'll be damned if it's all going to be a bloody blur.”

“Works for me,” Ron replies, licking his lips.

Harry stares at his friend, taking in the smoothness of Ron's lean chest. He isn't as muscled or broad as Fred and George, but Ron's nicely proportioned, and to Harry, drop dead gorgeous. He rises to his knees, tracing his fingers down the centre of Ron's torso.

Ron places both hands on Harry's shoulders, tilting his head and purposefully leaning in.

Harry's ready this time, angling his head just so and meeting Ron half-way.

This kiss is even better than the first.

Ron tastes wonderful, his lips full and warm.

Harry had now idea how he would now be able to get through a day, or an hour, without his hands or lips on Ron.

His hands wander over Ron's sides, gliding across all that smooth, freckled skin, coming to rest atop the loosened waistband of Ron's jeans. After barely a pause, Harry shoves them down, and they take Ron's boxers with them, both pooling up at Ron's knees.

Harry breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead on Ron's shoulder. He throttles Ron's thick, heavy dick with abandon.

Ron nuzzles Harry's cheek, mumbling nonsense. He pushes Harry's jeans and y-fronts past his hips, wrapping his rough fingers around Harry's hard prick. He tugs and pulls at it, almost experimentally at first, before establishing a steady rhythm.

Harry does the same, and they both gasp in unison.

They stroke each other furiously, Harry's breathing quickly becoming ragged. He knows he's about ready to come, and that's fine, but he also desperately wants this moment to go on forever. He pulls Ron into a clumsy, one-handed embrace, mashing their lips together and stroking Ron's cock faster and faster.

Ron does the same, one hand clamping around Harry's hip and arse. He presses fully against Harry, the sweat-slicked skin of their chests and stomachs touching and sliding deliciously.

They kiss and stroke each other with increasing fervour, Ron working Harry's hard dick almost desperately.

The next instant, an incredibly warm, super-smooth sensation spreads all about Harry's cock and groin.

Harry moans at the sudden slickness, his breath hitching in his chest. He shudders, losing his grip on Ron's cock as his body jerks and stiffens.

Ron yelps, taking both of their cocks in his big hand, pistoning them at once.

Harry throws his arms around Ron, burying his head in Ron's chest. He's so close, the sensation of Ron stroking them off nearly overwhelming.

Ron pumps and pumps his hand, grunting at the exertion of it.

Harry sucks in a deep breath, digging his fingers into Ron's back as he comes, his load erupting from his as never before.

Ron manages to catch most of Harry's spunk, smearing the sitckyhot stuff all over their cocks.

Harry can barely recall how to breathe, Ron's ministrations to his recently spent prick nearly causing him to pass out. Ron teases the tip of Harry's hyper-sensitive member, sending him into a spasm of ecstasy with each casual flick of a finger. He very nearly cries out for him to stop when Ron suddenly jerks still.

With a harsh intake of breath, Ron comes, his thick release coating both their bellies. He moans loudly, his body relaxing against Harry's.

Harry finds that he's able to breathe again, slowly thrusting his now flagging dick against Ron's.

Ron jerks and bucks in response, finally opening his eyes and grinning. Breathless, he leans his cheek on top of Harry's head.

"Wow," he manages to rasp out.

Harry nods, holding Ron tightly. "At least," he agrees.

They hug for a moment longer, until Harry becomes aware of the low chuckles emanating from the other side of the clearing.

He and Ron look up at the same time.

The Twins are still naked and lying on their sides. George is behind his brother, propped up on an elbow, his chin resting in his palm. His other arm drapes over Fred, the fingers of that hand lazily tracing small circles across Fred's stomach. Fred's head rests on his outstretched arm, and they both smile ear to ear, clearly right pleased with themselves, as if they've just mounted the biggest prank in the history Hogwarts.

"Way to go, little bro," George says with a chuckle. "We didn't think you had it in you."

"Well, he hasn't yet, really," Fred adds with an evil smirk.

"Won't be long, though, Fred."

"Right there, George."

"Brilliant!" they chorus brightly.

Harry and Ron stare at them, then each other, and back again. They scrabble for their jeans simultaneously, struggling to yank them on.

Ron tips over, falling to the ground in a tangled, cursing heap.

"Bloody twats! Why can't I have normal brothers?" he fumes, scrambling to his feet and yanking his jeans up.

The twins laugh some more.

Harry's unable to restrain a gale of serious giggles.

Ron stares at him.

"What? You mean you didn't mind those two perverts staring at us while we...while we—"

"Had sex?" Harry finishes for him. "Actually, no. I sort of like watching them. I don't mind if they watch us."

Ron scrunches up his face. "Really? Blimey, Harry, I'd have never thought—"

"Oh give it a rest, little, bro," Fred interrupts.

"Really," George adds. "Methinks he doth protest too much, eh?"

"So how do you two feel?" Fred asks, his eyes full of mischief.

"Fine," Harry replies, looking to Ron.

"I'm okay, I guess."

"No side effects?" George prods. "Headache? Nausea? Dry mouth?"

Harry and Ron both shake their heads.

"I'd say the test was a success, Fred. The enhancements worked perfectly."

"I'd agree, George."

"And it finally got these two together," Fred sighs.

"About time," George nods, rolling his eyes.

"Perfect!" they say in unison.

Ron huffs, planting his hands on his hips.

Harry simply sniggers.

George leans down, kissing the top of Fred's head.

"Fred? Our newbies could do with a bit of a clean up."

Fred murmurs an incantation, instantly cleaning away the sticky spunk.

Ron still glares at his brothers, leaning down to pick up his shirt.

Harry grins. "That was you then, when we were near the end there. You—"

George winked. "Standard Lubricus Charm. Don't worry; we'll teach you. Right handy, that one is."

Ron tosses Harry his t-shirt. "Are you okay, mate?"

"Yeah, Ron. I'm fine," Harry replies with a wide grin. "Totally, completely fine!"

 

 

**_~~fin~~_ **


End file.
